


A Marriage of Convenience

by MagicInHerMadness



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Marriage, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-04-26 18:09:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5014882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicInHerMadness/pseuds/MagicInHerMadness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichabod needs a green card. What's a partner to do but help him the best way she can?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So this is my first Ichabbie fic. I'm pretty new to the fandom but I'm an immediate and unrepentant Ichabbie shipper. I can't believe a ship this cute was just sailing along and I didn't know. Anyway, this was so fun to write and I'll definitely be writing more of it. I also take prompts and requests and whatnot. I'm on tumblr under the same name so feel free to find me. As I'm new, I would really love some feedback.

Ichabod found his hands twitching almost incessantly as he stood in the kitchen putting Chinese takeout onto plates. Abbie smirked at his back, wondering why it made any difference whether or not they ate off plates or out of the cartons. But she indulged because it was Ichabod. He turned around with heavily laden plates and brought them to the table.  
“Can we at least eat in front of the TV so this doesn’t seem so ‘Hi honey, how was your day?’?” She snorted at her own silliness.  
Ichabod chuckled, his eyebrow raised at her. He had very much planned to inquire about her day, but now he would wait until a moment that posed a lesser threat for mocking. “Is it so terrible to be traditional, Miss Mills?”  
Abbie snorted again. “You’ve hung up my bras. I think you can call me Abbie.”  
“Perhaps in our living quarters, but I believe I’ll maintain our boundaries in public,” he relented. “So, Abbie, what is it were eating tonight? I’ll admit I’m not very well-versed in takeout.”  
“This is shrimp fried rice. It’s exactly what it sounds like, Crane.”  
Ichabod nodded, already eating. “Quite good.”  
They split the large carton, Ichabod eating the majority while Abbie watched with a smile tugging at her lips. When they were finished, he cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, a machine that still mystified him three years into his stay in the 21st century. Abbie watched him wipe the table with a dishrag.  
“You really need to stop playing happy homemaker, Crane. Be a regular mooch. Spend all day on my couch eating my food and abusing my Netflix subscription,” Abbie said as she threw away their takeout cartons.  
“I won’t do anything of the sort,” he replied. Abbie knew he wouldn’t. “I already feel quite terrible imposing on you this way—especially after that incident with your unmentionables—”  
“Our laundry got mixed. It happened a week ago. It’s fine.” She could still remember the curiosity that played over his face as he held her negligee, and the horror that followed when he was caught.  
He shrugged, something he had only recently come to do, then looked at her dubiously. “I’m terribly afraid I must ask one more imposition of you.”  
“Yes I’ll accidentally handle your underwear so we’ll be even.” Abby sneered, rolling her eyes.  
Crane blushed deep crimson. “Heavens no, Miss Mills! I would never ask—”  
“Joke, Yankee Doodle.” She smiled when his face relaxed into a smile.  
“I’m terribly sorry that this request may be just as embarrassing. I need you to…marry me.” Abbie was sure he’d never been such an alarming shade of red. And his hands were twitching almost violently.  
Her own eyes widened, fear clawing up her throat and threatening to render her speechless. “Uh, Crane…I know this living situation is new to you but shacking up doesn’t require marriage anymore—not that that’s even what we’re doing. We’re just roommates.”  
“Oh I completely understand our situation, Miss Mills, new as it is. I’m only asking about the marriage because apparently I require some assistance in remaining stateside. I’m an illegal alien—odd phrase it is, and not even close to accurately describing the circumstances by which I arrived here—and must have some documentation to remain here. It is my understanding that the citizenship process is rather cumbersome and quite time-consuming—something of which neither of us has very much given our respective and collective duties—and as I comprehend it, a marriage is the simplest way around the rather laborious task. We would simply have the ceremony performed and then there would be a visit from an INS agent. Given our shared living quarters and our quite unique bond, I hypothesize that this would be a rather simple thing for us to accomplish and make appear authentic. I assure you I would not ask if it were not of the direst necessity and I would be willing to repay any fees incurred as soon as I am gainfully employed.” He didn’t exhale until he was finished speaking, standing before Abbie with his hands clasped before him to keep them from twitching.  
Abbie blinked at him and exhaled. “Wow, Crane. You’re informative if nothing else. I’ve honestly never even thought about your citizenship. You don’t even have a birth certificate.”  
“I’ve a death certificate somewhere if that would be of any assistance,” he offered sheepishly.  
Abbie stifled a laugh as she shook her head. “No. That would only raise questions we don’t have answers for. We’ll go to the courthouse and get you a new one. We’ll say yours was destroyed. After we get that, we should be able to get married pretty easily. Thank God you’re British.”  
“Why is that so helpful?”  
Abbie’s smile twitched. “If you were brown or from a country with ‘stan’ in the name, this wouldn’t be nearly as simple.”  
Ichabod nodded though he wasn’t sure what she meant. “Well then I suppose we can get started in the morning if that’s convenient for you.”  
“Tomorrow morning works.” She stood, her wine glass in hand. “I should go pick out some clothes for you.”  
“May I not pick out my own garments, Miss Mills?”  
Abbie shook her head. “No. You’d be very fashionable in Colonial Williamsburg, but here you look like you’re off to a perpetual war reenactment. They’ll take one look at your Yankee Doodle costume and throw us out.”  
“Yankee Doodle—“ His voice rose with annoyance but Abbie interrupted him.  
“Sorry, sorry. Not funny.” She smiled, wrinkling her nose. It was his least favorite joke, so naturally it was her favorite.  
“Not in the least, Miss Mills.” He raised both eyebrows at her sass. He’d oft thought she would greatly benefit from a turn over his knee, but there was no twenty-first century equivalent that he could administer.  
“You’re gonna have to start calling me Abbie, Crane. I’m your fiancée after all.” She couldn’t help laughing at the thought of being Ichabod’s fiancée, though there was a part of her that didn’t find it funny at all, instead finding it exhilarating. “The good news is, after tomorrow you’ll have a middle name I can call you by.”  
“By which you may call me,” he corrected, unable to stop himself.  
Abbie rolled her eyes, heading for his room. “Don’t correct me, Mr. Mills.”  
“I assure you such a change will be neither tolerable nor plausible, Abigail.” He grinned at the top of her head as he followed her into his room. “I think I’ll call you Abigail when you prove incorrigible. That sounds rather nice and befitting a married couple.”  
“It sounds like you’re my headmaster at St. Anne’s,” Abbie replied. “But I suppose it’s one of those things that the INS agent will like to hear.”  
Ichabod had to pause in the doorway to imagine Abbie as a schoolgirl in all the fitting attire and then himself as her headmaster instructing her to lift her skirt and assume the position for a paddling, before he took a few steps forward. He had to pause again to make the image disappear. Abbie was already in his closet, digging his modern clothes from the back. She pulled out a white button down and dark denim jeans, laying them out on the bed like a dutiful wife. She bent over and Ichabod impulsively dropped onto the bed behind her, giving himself a nice view of her delightful backside as she pushed aside his boots to retrieve the pair of loafers she’d bought him as a gag gift for his first Christmas.  
Abbie placed the shoes on the bed and Ichabod looked at them dubiously. “May I not wear my boots under the jeans? Surely they’ll fit.”  
Abbie smirked at him as she shut his closet then hung the clothes on the door. “Be a good husband and do as you’re told.”  
“Yes dear.” He smiled at affecting the sit-com delivery of the cliché line. Abbie smiled, shaking her head at him, then turned to leave but Crane stopped her. “Miss Mills, please understand that I am not making light of marriage in asking you under such circumstances. It is a bond which means quite a lot to me, much like the one between us. If these circumstances were not of a legal nature, I would assuredly prove to be the most devoted husband to you. And I intend to do just that, regardless to the nature of our marriage. I greatly regret my inability—or rather, my lack of planning and forethought—to plan a proper proposal or even procure a ring for you. I have done you a disservice in this endeavor and I must apologize.”  
Abby’s eyes glassed, deeply touched by his earnestness. She had no doubt that he would be a devoted husband. He was a devoted friend unlike any other. She could only imagine what being in love would do for his overtures of politeness and concern. But she wouldn’t indulge in such thoughts. He was sent to be her partner, not her lover. “Crane, you’ve gotta stop thinking so hard about this. I’m doing you a solid. That’s what friends do.”  
“A solid what, Miss Mills?”  
Abby smirked, shaking her head. “It’s just an expression. Don’t worry about it. Get some sleep.”  
“Shall I see you to bed? It seems the husbandly thing to do.”  
Abby snorted. “You’re not my husband just yet, but if you’d like, you can.”  
She wondered what seeing her to bed would entail, if it was a Victorian custom. When they reached her room at the other end of the hall, she asked. Ichabod pursed and unpursed his lips. “Nothing more than seeing you to your chambers and bidding you an affectionate goodnight. It was a rarer custom, mostly one of aristocratic couples who did not share bedchambers for any number of reasons. I myself was only introduced to it in passing when some fortuity or another granted me a soldier’s visit to the castle. Apparently his and her majesty did not share living quarters—nor did the duke and duchess—and this provided them with such lovely occasions to see their wives off to bed. It was supposedly the most romantic of tasks, though one wonders how romantic it can be to see one’s spouse off to bed but not join them.”  
Abbie nodded as she walked into her room. “Do you know what you should do? Or rather what we should say you do? We’re going to tell everyone you’re a recently relocated museum curator. That’s the only excuse for your knowledge and your rambling.”  
Ichabod nodded. “As you wish. I shall be a good husband and do as I’m told.”  
Abbie sat on her bed and looked at him expectantly. “Have I been properly seen to bed?”  
“Well…customarily I would bid you goodnight with a kiss but…such seems inappropriate.” His fingers flexed. Abbie snickered as she walked over to him, standing on her toes and planting a comically loud kiss on his lips. Ichabod scarcely stopped his knees from buckling. “Miss Mills, I’ve never been so—“  
He stopped his admonition mid-sentence, watching as she collapsed on the bed in a fit of giggles. “Calm down. You’ve got to get used to it if we’re gonna look normal in front of the INS.”  
His face burned. “Surely they won’t be investigating our amorous activities! I absolutely will not stand for something so scandalous!”  
Abbie shook her head, a silly smile still on her full lips. "No. We just have to look like we have sex."  
Ichabod nodded, remembering all the times Abbie had already been mistaken for his wife. He imagined they could fool one more stranger with little difficulty, but didn't share his belief. “I shall attempt a performance most convincing.”  
  
XXXXX  
At the courthouse, Ichabod sat beside Abby, fidgeting every few minutes until she looked away from the novel in her hand to smirk at him. "Can you settle down?"  
"I'm sorry. These trousers are the most troublesome things. They're terribly uncomfortable." He shifted in his seat again.  
"Sit normal." He glared down at her, his eyebrows raised and she sighed. "Slouch a little, and open your legs. You'll be a lot more comfortable."  
She imitated the posture and he copied it with a dubious expression. "I feel like a lout."  
Before Abbie could say anything snarky back, their names were called. They arrived at the counter and the woman behind it looked at them over the tops of her thick black-rimmed glasses. Abbie smiled. "Good morning. My boyfriend needs a replacement birth certificate so we can apply for a marriage license."  
"I see. And what happened to his original?" the woman asked in reply, looking at Ichabod. He smiled, brushing his hair back from his face.  
"There was a rather tragic fire in my childhood that destroyed everything my family owned. My mother and I got out all right but my father attempted to be the hero to save some things and we lost him. Mum couldn't make herself go back to investigate the rubble for anything salvageable. And they're not so strict on documents in Devonshire, our village, so it was never a problem until I immigrated." He smiled sadly and Abbie wondered how much of his story was true. "Believe it or not, I don't even know my middle name. I was barely out of nappies when the fire happened and as far as I can remember, no one ever used it."  
"That's terrible," the woman replied, clearly charmed by him. Abbie smirked at yet another woman who would be afflicted with "Crane brain." She found it amusing how easily his often accidental charm could grease the wheels for them. The woman tilted her head at him. "You look like you could have been a Michael."  
"Anything is better than an Ichabod," he replied, smiling boyishly, aware that he was doing well. "I have a deep love of family names, but being an Ichabod in the 1700s like the grandfather I was named for was undoubtedly much easier than being one in the 1980s."  
"Oh I can imagine." The woman smiled sympathetically then reached beneath her desk and retrieved a folder of paperwork. "Just fill these out as best you can, and we'll get everything fixed up for you."  
They walked away from the counter and resumed their seats. Abbie smirked at Ichabod as he stared at the files in confusion. She took them from him and began filling them in. "What should your new middle name be?"  
He shrugged. "I don't know. What do you like?"  
Abbie bit her bottom lip as she thought. "It's got to fit your first name, but what the hell fits Ichabod?"  
"My maternal grandfather's name was Thomas. I have rather fond memories of him."  
"Thomas works." She completed the forms then took them back to the counter.  
A few days later, his new birth certificate arrived in the mail. They promptly applied for a marriage license. Abbie tried not to think about the butterflies in her stomach that seemed overjoyed at the prospect of being Mrs. Ichabod Crane.  
  
XXXXX  
The night before they would return to the courthouse for their wedding, she sat on Ichabod's bed and watched him huff over the simplicity of his modern suit. "It's got no tails, no vest, no gloves. It's not even fit for the most casual of lunches."  
"I like it," Abbie replied, her eyes roaming over his slender frame on which the suit hung beautifully. She was surprised that it didn't even need any tailoring when they bought it at Macy's.  
Ichabod turned away from the mirror. "You do?"  
Abbie nodded. "You look really nice."  
"Nice" was an understatement. The suit clung just enough to make his wiry frame sinewy, and even his hair, hanging around the collar of his white shirt, looked for Calvin Klein than founding father.  
Ichabod hoped he wasn't blushing. If Abbie liked him in it, the suit was officially his favorite garment. "My warmest thanks...Abbie."  
  
xxxxx  
Jenny smirked at her sister and Ichabod as they sat nervously outside the judge's chambers. Abbie wore a cream wrap dress and black pumps, her hair curled in soft waves around her face. Ichabod wore his new suit. Jenny smirked at his boots peeking from beneath the hems of his pants. She held up her digital camera. "Smile!"  
They both looked up at her and she snapped a picture of them, wide-eyed with raised eyebrows. She laughed when it appeared on her screen. "That's going on the Christmas card."  
"Come off it, Jenny," Abbie replied.  
Jenny continued laughing as she sat beside Abbie. "Come off it sounds decidedly Crane-ish. I think you two are rubbing off on each other, which I guess is a good thing since you're getting married.  
Abbie rolled her eyes at her younger sister. "I think I should have gotten someone else to be our witness."  
"But I'm family." She snickered as she removed a bouquet of tulips from her purse and handed them to Ichabod. "Here you go, bro."  
Abbie threw Jenny a look then turned to Ichabod. He fluffed the violet flowers then handed them to Abbie. "I thought you should have a bouquet. It seemed fitting."  
"They're new and blue. All you need is something old and borrowed," Jenny interjected. She took her bejeweled butterfly hair clip from her hair, letting it fall around her face, and handed it to her sister. "It's old enough, and I definitely want it back."  
A clerk poked his silver head out the heavy chamber door. “Grace Mills and Ichabod Crane?”  
Ichabod looked at Abby, his left eyebrow raised. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard anyone call you Grace. I quite like it.”  
“My name is Abbie. Abigail is pushing it. Grace is out of the question.” She stood and smoothed her dress. “Let’s get a move on Tommy.”  
“Absolutely not,” Ichabod replied, vetoing the nickname immediately.  
She smiled at him, wrinkling her nose. “Ichy?”  
“Not if you expect an answer, darling.” He was surprised at how easily the pet name rolled off his tongue, thinking that perhaps he was having to easy a time settling into a relationship with Abbie, fictitious at it might be.  
  
xxxxx  
Ichabod wore an immovable smile as he held Abbie’s left hand in his as they stood before the round judge. He read the traditional marital speech to them, looking over the horned rim of his glasses. He looked up at Ichabod. “Ichabod, do you take Grace—”  
“Abbie,” Ichabod interrupted. “She prefers Abbie.”  
“Oh. My apologies,” the judge replied. “Ichabod, do you take Abbie to be your lawfully wedded wife? In sickness and health, for richer or poorer, to have and hold for as long as you both shall live?”  
“I do,” Ichabod answered, hoping he didn’t seem too eager.  
“Me too,” Abbie interjected. Ichabod’s eyebrows raised as he looked at his partner. He wasn’t sure what to make of her seeming eagerness.  
The judge smiled at them. “Very well then. And I assume no one has any objections so I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”  
Ichabod turned to Abbie and placed his hands on her shoulders. They both hesitated, not having discussed this aspect of the wedding. The judge looked at them quizzically and Ichabod quickly found his tongue. “We’ve never been much for public affection.”  
The judge sneered. “Shall I cover my eyes?”  
Abbie looked from him to Ichabod and took his face in her hands. She was surprised by how natural it felt to press her lips to his. Not natural because she’d kissed a man before, but natural because it seemed to be something she should have been doing all along. It didn’t take any prodding to get him to respond, his lips quickly finding a rhythm with hers. Abbie shuddered at his tongue ghosting the swell of her bottom lip.  
Jenny cleared her throat and they sheepishly parted. The judge hiccupped a chuckle. The younger  
Mills sister rolled her eyes. “Save some for the honeymoon.”  
Abbie’s cheeks went hot but it was her husband’s face that showed the embarrassment. He was crimson from his neck to his hairline, his hands still awkwardly clutching her. Neither of them was sure what had come over them. He turned to the judge and extended his hand. “Our warmest thanks.”  
The judge shook his hands. “I wish you the best, Mr. and Mrs. Crane.”  
Abbie smirked. “Mills.”  
“We haven’t decided,” Ichabod replied, glancing down at Abbie with raised eyebrows.  
  
xxxxx  
After their first marital spat in the parking lot about who would drive, they ended up at their favorite diner, where the staff graciously sent over cheesecake drizzled in chocolate to congratulate them on their nuptials.  
Ichabod cut a large piece and picked up a hunk on his fork, looking at his partner—wife—with a smile. “Would you care for the first bite, Mrs. Crane?”  
Abby smirked at him. “When did we decide I was taking your name?”  
He shrugged, blushing. “I’ll admit it’s an old-fashioned assumption.”  
Abbie looked at him, noticing the softness of his gaze. For whatever reason, it meant something to him. “Alright. I’ll be Mrs. Crane, but only until after the INS clears us.”  
“I assure you, you will find it a most satisfying experience.” He couldn’t help smiling, clearly pleased.  
“I can only imagine.” She could, but she wouldn’t let herself.  
Their pie boxed to go, they headed back to Abbie’s house and Ichabod sat on the couch, watching her put the pie away. He wasn’t sure what else there was for them to do for the evening. This wasn’t a traditional marriage, but he couldn’t just bid her goodnight and go to his room, not when something like excitement hung in the air between them.  
“So what do we do now, Mr. Crane?” she asked, surprising him.  
“I…I am not certain. At this point in my first marriage, Katrina and I were…consummating it.” He wasn’t sure what he would do if she suggested they do the same. That was a lie. He knew exactly what he would do. He would be a good husband and do as he was told.  
Abbie’s eyebrows raised and a smile played on her lips. “Well you do owe me big, but let’s save that for another time. Why don’t we move your stuff into my room?”  
Ichabod wondered when such a time would present itself, hoping it was sooner rather than later. He cleared his throat. “Why should we move my things?”  
“So when the INS agent makes a home visit, it’ll look like we share a bed.”  
“We’re going to share a bed then?”  
Abbie hadn’t considered them actually sharing a bed. But they couldn’t have two slept in beds when the agent showed up. It would raise too many questions. “I hadn’t really thought about it. I mean, we have to at least look like we do when immigration shows up, so… What the hell? We’ve done it before, right?”  
“And under circumstances less official, I might add.”  
They set to work moving his things into her room and after more than a few squabbles over where things went and if they went at all, they managed to settle in nicely. Ichabod found himself goosebumped with anxiety as he stood in Abbie’s shower. The whole room smelled like her—jasmine and vanilla—and he wasn’t sure whether or not he should use her soap. When he realized the alternative was wrapping himself in a towel and walking past her to his bathroom to retrieve his own, he lost his reservations with her Dove soap and lathered himself. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he exited the shower and found her at the sink brushing his teeth.  
“Miss Mills! This is most—” He wasn’t sure what it was. She was his wife, after all. And they were cohabitating as married couples did. And it wasn’t as if they’d never caught glimpses of each other in the past. Technically, “this” wasn’t anything.  
Abbie’s bubbling laugh broke him from his thoughts. She set her toothbrush on the counter and looked at his reflection. “I think this is the first time you’ve stopped yourself from losing your shit. Nice personal growth.”  
He raised his eyebrows, his lips pursed indignantly. “I can assure I’m quite capable of keeping my shit properly contained, whatever that means.”  
Abbie didn’t immediately reply, instead turning to look at him. Ichabod’s face burned when he realized she was staring at him. She leaned back against the sink and considered him, her eyebrows furrowed. She wasn’t overtly repulsed by the sight of him, but she wasn’t salivating the way he imagined he would be if the roles were reversed, so he wondered what she was thinking.  
Abbie’s gaze abruptly jerked away. She didn’t realize she’d been staring. Ichabod’s naked body had entered her mind more than she’d ever admit without a gun to her head, but the real thing was riveting. He wasn’t as thin as she’d assumed, instead quite muscular in a wiry way, with a thin layer of dark hair on his chest and a thicket of curls above impressive privates. She’d imagined he would be adequately endowed, but he was completely surprising. She said the only thing that came to mind: “Wow.”  
“I suppose a declaration of thanks is the only logical reply.” He retrieved his towel from the toilet lid and wrapped it around his waist.  
Abbie shook her head, better able to focus without his naked form staring at her. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. I just… You’re hot. I didn’t think you would be.”  
He resumed his indignant expression. “Well I’ve come quite a ways since I had my hump removed.”  
She laughed, shaking her head again. “That’s not what I meant. I always knew you were attractive. I just…made certain assumptions about you that were surprisingly inaccurate.”  
He gave a smug smile. “Judging from the time you spent gazing, I’d say I did quite the job surpassing expectations, Abigail.”  
She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t call me Abigail, Ichabod.”  
“I believe our marital status gives me the right to call you what I please.”  
“I believe our marital status gives me the right to make you sleep on the couch.”  
“Noted, Mrs. Crane.” He left the bathroom and went into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. A moment later, he heard the shower turn on as he dressed for bed. It was a strange feeling, climbing into Abbie’s bed. It was place he never thought he’d be, but one in which he found himself surprisingly comfortable as he nestled beneath her fabric softener-scented sheets. His eyes quickly grew heavy with sleep and he had dozed off when the bed groaned gently with the weight of her joining him.  
His eyes fluttered open and there she was, clad in a dark green t-shirt that he knew to be his own. She had pulled her hair up into a bun at the crown of her head, and her scrubbed clean face seemed much younger. She looked down at the swaddling t-shirt. “I hope you don’t mind. I took this cause you never wear it.”  
“I suppose it’s alright since you purchased it for me.”  
Abbie shrugged as she joined him under the covers. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t buy it for you with the intention of stealing it back.”  
“Well you’re much more attractive in it than I would be.”  
He turned off the bedside lamp and cloaked them in darkness. Abbie lay on her side, facing away from him. It was the way she always slept, but she’d be lying if she said it was helpful in putting distance between them. Seeing him naked had surprised her in more ways than she’d let on. Not only was he surprisingly attractive, she was surprisingly attracted.  
“Goodnight, Abbie,” he murmured in the darkness.  
“Goodnight Mr. Mills,” she replied with an unseen smirk. She yelped softly when he gave her side a gentle pinch.  
It didn’t take them long to drift off to sleep and when Abbie awoke at dawn, she was surprised to find herself pinioned beneath the weight of Ichabod’s embrace. His arm lay over her side and his left leg was draped over the arch of her hip, holding her to him. She shifted, trying to extract herself without waking him. He gave a still-asleep groan and attempted to pull her back to him. His arm tightened on her waist, his hips pivoted, pressing him closer to her backside, and his snores ceased for a moment during which Abbie held her breath. She wasn’t sure what would happen if he awoke to find them in such a position, especially because she couldn’t tell which of them had reached for the other. Judging her distance from the edge of the bed, she guessed they had met in the middle of the night in the midst of their sleep. It was blameless.  
  
xxxxx  
She drifted off to sleep again and awoke alone the second time. She tumbled out of bed, wondering where Crane had gotten to, if he’d fled their marital bed when he awoke embracing her. She couldn’t help a little laugh at the idea of her and Crane having a “marital bed.” After she used the bathroom, she heard distinctly Crane noises coming from the kitchen. She stopped in the doorway and took in the sight of him having a battle of wills with the stovetop as he attempted to scramble eggs.  
“Hell’s bells,” he muttered and Abbie stifled a snicker. His profanities were always hilarious to her. Instead she walked over and wedged herself between him and the stove, taking his spatula-holding hand and gently stirring the eggs.  
“If you keep them moving, they won’t stick. Butter helps too,” she said as he let go to allow her to handle the eggs independently.  
“Perhaps we should invest in that unexpectedly ingenious egg scramblers from the late night advertisements,” he replied.  
“Or you could just let me do the cooking. I’d like to think that would be easy for a man of your time.”  
Ichabod pursed his lips. “I’m more evolved than that, thank you.”  
“Noted,” Abbie replied, scraping the eggs onto a plate. “Do you want sausage too?”  
“Yes please.” He set to work loading the toaster, a task he found much easier. “So what shall we do today, dearest?”  
Abbie took note of his pet name but didn’t say anything. She liked that he was relaxing past calling her “Miss Mills,” though he did it with such sweetness that she was permanently endeared to the title. “I don’t have any plans.”  
“Well, we must procure wedding bands.”  
Abbie looked down at her bare left hand. “I hadn’t even thought about it. That’s probably a good idea.”  
Two hours later, they were driving to the shopping center in the next town over. Abbie had even coaxed Ichabod into wearing jeans. They easily found the jewelry store and a tall, thin man greeted them warmly. “Hello, I’m James. What can I help you find today? Perhaps a necklace for the lady? We have some lovely new sapphire pieces that would glow quite nicely against your skin, ma’am.”  
If had the means, Ichabod would certainly have draped her in sapphires. “Perhaps for her birthday. Today we require wedding bands.”  
“Ooh! Congratulations!” The man beamed, even bouncing a little as he clapped excitedly. “So what are thinking? Gold? Silver? Diamonds?”  
“Simple gold will do. Maybe a diamond for the lady,” Ichabod replied.  
“Very classic.” He led them to a case of sets of rings and pulled out a tray. He pointed to a set with a large plain gold man’s ring paired with a thinner ring encrusted with round diamonds. “This is actually a new set we just got this week. It’s called The Lord and Lady because there’s something deliciously royal about it. Would you like to try them on?”  
Ichabod looked at Abbie to gauge her reaction. She considered the rings, her head tilted to the side, then shook her head. “No. That ring is beautiful, but it’s a little too fancy for my job. I think someone a little less sparkly would work much better.”  
Still, Ichabod slipped the too-large ring on her slender finger. He liked the way the diamonds glinted. “Are you sure?”  
Abbie nodded, slipping the ring off. She looked up at Ichabod. “Do you like them?”  
He shrugged. “My only desire is for you to be pleased with them.”  
She smiled, her insides suddenly soft and warm. Ichabod was surprised when she reached up and gave his cheek a pinch. She looked back at James. “I want simple gold bands with our wedding date on them.”  
Ichabod nodded. “Given my penchant for forgetting specific dates, that shall prove most fortuitous.”  
James found the perfect bands and took down their information for engraving then led them to the cash register. Abbie waited until his back was turned to press the cash she’d withdrawn from her account into his palm. He looked at her questioningly then quickly understood and deposited it in his pocket. He gave her side an affectionate squeeze, surprising them both since he wasn’t very physical.  
  
XXXXX  
Two Weeks Later  
Ichabod stood in the kitchen doorway watching Abbie stir sweet tea in a pitcher. She wore a dress that day, a rarity for her. It was white, with thin straps that crossed between her shoulder blades, and a dipping neckline that put her impressive cleavage on breathtaking display. Coupled with the short, flouncing hem that seemed to flutter with every move, he was sure he’d never been so distracted by her.  
“Crane, come taste the tea,” she called, drawing him out of his daydreams about the wonders beneath the dress’s whispery fabric.  
He walked over and peered at the pitcher with disdain. “Tea is to be served hot with milk and sugar, not ice and lemons.”  
“It’s got sugar in it. Just taste it.” She drank from her own glass, her wine red lipstick marking the rim of her glass. She held the glass out to him and he took it, grimacing as he took a sip. It was surprisingly sweet, but delightfully tart from the lemons.  
“Mmm.” He nodded as he took another sip. Abbie wore a cocky smile as she watched him, but it twitched when he licked his lips. “This is exceptional, Abigail.”  
She rolled her eyes, though still smiling. “You really need something else to call me.”  
He raised his eyebrows at her. “You do not wish me to call you Ms. Mills, nor Abigail or Grace. I am afraid you’ve left me without options, darling.”  
“Darling works.” She wasn’t sure how long it would work considering the frantic flutter of her heart when it came out of his mouth, but she craved it falling from his lips. Or maybe it was only his lips she was craving…  
His eyebrows quirked. “I would not expect a woman such as yourself to enjoy such a delicate moniker.”  
It was her turn to raise her eyebrows. “Are you saying I’m too tough to be your darling? Well you can fuck right off because I’m damn precious.”  
He couldn’t help laughing. Her swearing would have been intolerable from anyone else, but on her lips it was both hilarious and exhilarating. He raised his hands in surrender. “Whatever you wish, darling.”  
She glared. “Don’t patronize me, you—”  
His index finger against her lips cut her off. She glared at him again then parted her lips, allowing the tip to fall inside her mouth. Ichabod watched, transfixed, the pad of his finger against the silken softness of her tongue. Her teeth nipped the soft flesh and he yelped, hastily snatching his hand away. “Grace Abigail Mills-Crane, I should turn you over my knee!”  
She stepped closer, his use of her full name and the threat setting off a thumping in her core. “I’d like to see you try.”  
They stared at each other for a long moment, each waiting for the other to make a move. The doorbell broke the spell and they reluctantly looked away from each other. Abbie headed for the front door, yelping when Ichabod swatted her backside. He looked down at his palm in awe, wondering when he’d become so free to touch.  
It was undoubtedly their living situation, sharing a bed and a bathroom. They had settled into something like a real marriage, save the physical aspect. But he was confident that there would be some change on that front very soon. Abbie had lost all qualms about cuddling with him in bed, draping herself over his body like a cat while he read on the porch in the evenings, being delightfully irritating as she raked his beard with her fingernails. And she wore so little to bed that he was loathe to consider it nightclothes at all, usually only shorts that were barely more than undergarments and flimsy tank tops that cupped the lush mounds of her breasts in the most torturously arousing way. She even kissed him goodbye when she left in the mornings, a quick peck on his nose or lips, her travel cup full of coffee he’d learned to use the coffee maker to prepare just for her. The irony that he couldn’t remember which of them had started the tradition despite his eidetic memory wasn’t lost on him. What amazed him most was the seamlessness of their change. The only person who commented was Jenny, declaring that she “fucking knew it” after watching Abbie greet him with a kiss upon returning home. Abbie merely looked at her sister and shrugged.  
He walked into the living room and smiled at the tall, thin woman standing in the middle of the living room. She wore a dark suit and carried a briefcase. Her face wasn’t unfriendly, but she wasn’t smiling either. He stepped fully into the room and Abbie stuck her tongue out at him behind the woman. He felt his face relax into a smile. “Hello ma’am. Ichabod Crane, pleased to make your acquaintance. I see you’ve already met the better bearer of the Crane name.”  
The woman cocked an eyebrow at him. “She introduced herself as Mills.”  
He returned the gesture. “She likes to do that with strangers in hopes of irritating me.”  
“I succeeded.” Abbie came to stand at his side, looking up at him with a cheeky smile.  
Crane responded by affectionately tweaking the tip of her button nose. He looked back at the INS agent who was watching them with something like curiosity. He guessed that their ruse was working, though he wasn’t sure where the ruse began and ended anymore. “Would you like some sweet tea, ma’am? I still prefer my tea as it should be but I must admit it is not a terrible alternative.”  
“Sweet tea would be lovely.” She took a seat in the large leather wingback that Ichabod had brought from the cabin and crossed her legs, considering them unabashedly.  
“I’ll get it,” Abbie volunteered, giving Crane a subtle nudge toward the couch. He took a seat and attempted his most congenial smile at the agent whose name he couldn’t remember. He wasn’t entirely sure if she’d introduced herself at all. He had been too busy looking at Abbie.  
She tilted her head at him, seemingly examining him closely. “So Mr. Crane, what brought you to America?”  
“I visited to do some consulting work with a museum in Atlanta and met my sweet Abigail. Please don’t tell her I called her that; she’ll wring my neck as I’ve already received my warning. Well I was absolutely smitten, irreparably so. Never has a man been so taken with a woman, at least outside of Harlequin novels. I begged my way into an extension of my visa to give me more time to woo her, and some celestial being took pity on my besotted soul because she was quite equally in love. I’ll admit it’s my personal belief that she suffered some unseen blow to the head to agree to marry me so soon after our meeting. I’ll also admit that the time contingency of my visa rushed our nuptials much more than I would like. Much to my dearest’s chagrin, I’m terribly old-fashioned and was set on a lengthy courtship to ensure her a thorough wooing but certain constraints rushed my actions. Now I find myself courting my wife if ever such a silly thing has happened.” He watched the woman’s face as she watched him. She remained expressionless but she didn’t look away. He guessed he had her attention to say the least. “Ma’am if I may be frank—something I’m regrettably terrible at that my beloved blames of my Englishness—I wish to become a citizen not because of any lofty allegiance to America. I am not enamored with the ideals of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I only wish to remain in this fine country to be near the very beat of my heart. I scarcely comprehend how I lived so long not knowing that such a heavenly creature existed. I could bear going home to England and longing for her every minute, but I could not bear the thought of her unhappy without me. The slightest frown from her is enough to spur me into anything to see it removed from her face. She told me that she cannot abide my leaving, and I cannot abide her discomfort in any way.”  
Abbie stood in the kitchen doorway, her eyes glassy. She knew firsthand what a terrible liar Ichabod was, and he hadn’t stammered once. His hands remained perfectly still in his lap. He was telling the truth, unabashedly so. She finally entered the room and set the tray on the table then took a seat beside him. He looked at her almost sheepishly, unsure of how much she’d heard, and she answered by taking his face in her hands and pulling it close to plant a kiss on his forehead, smoothing his hair back off his forehead. She brushed her nose with his, smiling softly as she looked at him. He blushed, his ears crimson. “To what do I owe such sweetness, precious?”  
“Nothing. It’s just for being you.” She scratched his beard and he hummed with pleasure.  
The INS agent cleared her throat and they parted, looking at her like teenagers caught under the bleachers. She picked up her briefcase and took a sugar cookie from the plate. “I get the very strong sense that I’m about to be guilty of coitous interruptus so I believe I’ll take my leave. Mr. Crane, your documents will arrive in the mail in four to six weeks.  
Ichabod grinned, a rare true smile that made Abbie smile at him as he sprung up off the couch to shake her hand. “I cannot express my thanks!”  
She accepted his thanks then left. Ichabod shut the door and turned to Abbie with a grin. “I’m an American citizen. What should I do first? Buy a pickup truck? Eat a supersized Big Mac? Drink a canned beer? My possibilities are endless! I have legal license to become completely without refinement!”  
Abbie laughed, falling back on the couch. Ichabod grinned, pleased at amusing her, and walked over to sit beside her on the floor. When she recovered, she turned to look at him with a smile. “Now that you’re American, you should definitely go by Tommy. It’s very American.”  
He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, angel, I think being Ichabod is just fine.”  
“Why?”  
“Because he loves and is loved by a very special lady.”  
She smiled, reaching over to run her fingers through his hair and pull him close enough to kiss again. “You know this is gonna be a really funny story.”  
“A marriage of convenience becomes an accidental match made in heaven. Indeed, our children shall find it quite entertaining.”  
She continued running her fingers through his hair. “You should carry me to bed and tell me…slowly, Mr. Crane.”  
“I shall be a good husband and do as I’m told.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi! So this is my first attempt at a Sleepy Hollow story and I was really surprised by the response. Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews. It really means a lot to feel so immediately welcome in a fandom.
> 
> This chapter takes place a few weeks after the first. Ichabbie has been married about 6 weeks. There’s going to be smut very soon, probably the next chapter.

 

October 2015

Ichabod frowned as he reached for Abbie in his sleep. He kept scooting closer but eventually opened his eyes because he never reached her. He yawned as he sat up, wondering where she could have been. He got out of bed and checked the bathroom but she wasn’t there. He left their bedroom, headed for the kitchen and smiled at the plate of grilled cheese sandwiches on the table. A yellow Post-It was stuck to the table in front of the plate: “Lazy Sunday brunch for 2 if you ever wake up (:” He touched one of the sandwiches and found it was still warm, meaning she hadn’t been up too long without him. But where she was at the moment was his most pressing question.

The porch swing creaked and he smiled. Of course she would be there. It was the perfect “lazy Sunday” spot. He was still getting used to the idea of a lazy Sunday, having been used to staunch church attendance on Sundays. However, he was willing to try anything for Abbie, his wife, his “darling angel.” That was his nickname for the week. It seemed he came up with some new way to profess his adoration for her every few days.

He picked up the plate and went out onto the front porch. Abbie sat on the porch swing, her short legs almost spanning the length of it, a portable heater on the rickety table before her. He smiled at the sight of her reading _Tender is the Night_ , one of his novels, as she sat swaddled in one of his sweaters and a pair of fuzzy gray socks. She looked up at him with a smile. “Took you long enough to get up, sleepyhead.”

“I was embracing sleeping in,” he replied as he joined her on the swing, placing her little feet in his lap. He took one sandwich and offered her one. She declined her own sandwich but accepted a bite of his when he offered it. He looked at the novel in her hands. “Fitzgerald…I’ll admit I’m only mildly familiar with his work.”

“Really? This was in your box.”

“A gift from your sister. I’ve not had time to read it.”

“I haven’t read it since high school.” She marked her page then shut the book. She put the book on the table then took the plate from her husband and climbed into his lap. Ichabod kissed her forehead and set the swing rocking.

“I found the loveliest record for you at the thrift store,” he said proudly. Abbie smiled. He loved thrift stores more than anywhere else, except possibly IKEA. He seemed to marvel at the things people discarded, especially antiques, but the record section was undoubtedly his favorite. Abbie had come home with a record player for him one day after finding his Amazon Wish List—another obsession of his—and he had been buying records ever since. He seemed to have a particular love of guitar-heavy rock: Hendrix, Clapton, Gary Clark. She wondered what gem he had found for her. “It’s a collection of duets by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. And I found the most wonderful song on it, called ‘Stars Fell on Alabama.’ I’ve never known such to happen but it’s a marvelous song nonetheless.”

“I love Ella Fitzgerald,” Abbie replied, reaching over to take a sandwich from the plate. “These are cold.”

“As are your legs.” He wondered what possessed her to come out into the autumn morning without trousers, or “leggings,” the confusing trouser-tights of which she seemed to own an infinite amount.

“You’re warm.” She snuggled closer, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping his long arms around her.

“I think we should go inside before you get a cold, precious.” He scooped her up and carried her into the house, setting her on the couch and draping a blanket over her legs, then went outside to retrieve their sandwiches and turn off the heater. He returned and found her lying on the couch where he’d left her, her eyes half-lidded. She sneezed as he passed. “I’ll make you some tea while I heat up our sandwiches.”

“Will you make me caramel apple spice?” He had learned the recipe from a Starbucks barista at some point and now made a better version in Abbie’s opinion.

He returned from the kitchen and knelt beside her. He smiled as he kissed her cold nose. “You’re chilled. I should put you to bed before I start.”

“I’m okay. I’m already warming up.”

“Are you sure?” She nodded and he went to the kitchen. She could hear him setting the microwave and getting out the pot he needed to mix the apple juice and caramel syrup. A smile spread across her face as she lay back on the couch. If anyone had told her that being a witness to prevent the powers of hell from bringing about the apocalypse would make her the luckiest wife in the world, she would have laughed in their face. But now all that was behind them and everything that lay ahead was poised to be the most thrilling adventure yet.

A short while later, they were snuggled under the blanket, the television set on the History Channel. Abbie lay half asleep on top of Ichabod, drowsily listening as he corrected the television while he ran his fingers through her hair.

XXXXX

Monday

Abbie smiled as she entered the kitchen, finding Ichabod already there, putting Tupperware containers in a brown bag. She walked over and wrapped her arms around his bare torso, planting a kiss between his shoulder blades. “Good morning.”

He reached back and squeezed her hip. “It certainly is, precious.”

She lay her head against his warm back. “I wish I didn’t have to go back to work. Why can’t I stay on vacation forever?”

He caressed her hip. “Don’t frown, angel. Think of how happy you’ll be to see me after a day’s separation.”

Abbie snorted. “Someone thinks highly of himself.”

xxxxx

Abbie smiled at the picture Ichabod had sent her of himself, dressed in a white button down shirt and dark pants in preparation for his job interview at the local history museum. He was particularly delighted at the prospect of taking the bus to work every day. Abbie had tried to explain that it wasn’t as glamorous as he thought, but he was so happy that she allowed him his exuberance.

**Put your hair up like I showed you. You’ll look hip** , she replied. He sent her another picture of him, his hair twisted expertly twisted in a bun, and a pair of half-rimmed tortoiseshell glasses perched on his nose. Following the resolution of their mission, he got rid of most of his colonial garb, except his coat and his cherished boots. He seemed to have settled into a “hipster businessman” aesthetic, developing a fondness for bowties, suspenders, and straight-legged chinos that he could pair with white dress shirts. Abbie had turned him into a disciple of the “man bun” once he decided to grow his hair back out to its original length.

She saved the picture then went back to the report she was filling out, only looking up when Daniel stopped at her desk.

“Letter from the BAU,” he said, placing it on her desk. “They’re really after you, Mills.”

Abbie took the letter and looked at the seal. “Virginia’s a little out of my wheelhouse. Plus, Crane isn’t really the best at handling change.”

“And leaving him behind is out of the question?” Daniel had his suspicions about Abbie and her peculiar best friend, but he couldn’t confirm anything other than that they were too close to be “just friends.” He knew for a fact that “just friends” didn’t look at each other that way.

“Not anymore.” She shyly raised her left hand where her shining wedding band glinted on her ring finger.

She wasn’t surprised when Daniel’s eyes widened but he quickly corrected his expression. “When, uh, when did this…happen?”

“Over my vacation. It was for his citizenship. I mean, we live together already and everything so it was pretty easy.” As if she’d summoned him, Ichabod appeared before her desk, holding a brown paper bag. Abbie stood and smiled at him in his interview outfit, his hair pulled back into a loose knot at the crown of his head, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “Hi. What’s up?”

He held up the bag. “You forgot your lunch and I thought I’d bring it to you on my way to the museum.”

She smiled as she took the bag. “Thank you for bringing it. What did you make?”

“Grilled chicken nuggets, grilled cheese cut diagonally, and tomato soup.” He smiled proudly at putting together her favorite lunch. “And for dessert, this.”

He produced a Hostess chocolate cupcake pack from his pocket and smiled when Abbie’s eyes lit up. “Did you know they do not sell these at Whole Foods? I was directed to a _Piggly Wiggly_ —ridiculous name for a store—where I found not only these but an array of sweets. I must admit I purchased two boxes of these delightful chocolate cakes with chocolate icing on them.”

Abbie chuckled. “Don’t eat them all before I get home.”

“I make no promises, precious.” Behind Abbie, Daniel’s eyebrows quirked. Ichabod tried not to smile smugly. “Agent Reynolds, nice to see you as always.”

“Same to you, Mr. Crane,” Daniel replied.

They stiffly shook hands and Ichabod gave a glimmer of a cocky smile before quickly turning his attention back to Abbie. “I must be going. Shall I pick up takeout for dinner?”

“Orange chicken and fried rice,” Abbie replied. “I’ll stop by Seven-Eleven and get you a slurpee.”

“Cherry please.” His excited grin never failed to make her smile. He brushed her hair back from her face then pulled her into his arms, unsure of what level of affection he should display in her workplace. But she tilted her face up to smile at him and he couldn’t resist lifting her onto her toes to kiss her. “I will call you after my interview.”

“Okay.” Abbie smiled, reaching up to gently smooth his beard. He leaned down again to kiss her forehead, making an affectionate trail down the bridge of her nose to her lips, and Abbie gave a soft exhale, completely forgetting her boss’s presence until Daniel cleared his throat. They sheepishly parted and Ichabod caressed his wife’s face one more time before taking his leave. Abbie resumed her seat and picked up her pen, but paused when she realized Daniel was still standing behind her desk. She turned to look at him. “Need something else?”

He pursed and un-pursed his lips. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Abbie shrugged, unsure of how to proceed with the conversation. “I guess it’s just one of those things, Reynolds.”

“Hmm,” was all he replied.

Abbie sighed, unsure of how to have this conversation, or if she should have been having it at all. She and Daniel hadn’t been anything in so long that there was really no need for an explanation, but she wished things hadn’t happened the way they did. “What do you want me to say?”

“When?”

She sighed. “After we got married. At first it was just for the papers, but then something…changed. I don’t know what. But now we’re dating, if that makes any sense.”

“You moved in together, got married, and _now_ you’re dating? Mills…”

“I know.”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Are you happy? Does he make you happy?”

A smile spread across her face. “Yes.”

Daniel nodded and left her desk. Abbie wasn’t sure what to think of the conversation. She honestly hadn’t thought enough about what people might think. She’d been too busy being what Jenny deemed “obnoxiously content.”

xxxxx

Abbie wasn’t surprised to find Ichabod on the couch when she returned home, his head bent over his iPad. She knew he was shopping on Amazon. “What are you buying?”

“Bookshelves. I’m in serious danger of overloading mine. It’s developed this habit of creaking as though it will collapse at the slightest provocation.”

Abbie reached over his shoulder and hit the HOME button on his iPad then pointed at the iBooks app. “You can just buy books on here.”

He opened the app and his eyes widened at the store. “Exceptional!”

Abbie laughed in his hair as she leaned down to kiss the crown of his head. “I’ll go get dinner on the table.”

He was still scrolling when she called him a few minutes later, so engrossed that he didn’t hear her until she called a second time. Ichabod smiled as he brought the iPad to the table to show her his new bookshelf. “Can you believe the literature _iTunes_ is giving away for free? These are the classics of our generation! I would be appalled if it wasn’t such a boon on my part.”

Abby’s eyebrows quirked. “Technically they’re the new books of your generation, and the stuff everyone is tired of reading of mine, but I get your point.”

He set the iPad down as he took a seat opposite her. “Do you know what I noticed today?”

“What?”

“We have no photographs. I dropped in on Jenny and Joe earlier to return some books, and I noticed they had several photographs of themselves from various occasions. We don’t have any and I would like some, or at least a few on my phone to show my new co-workers at the museum.”

“You got the job? I’m so proud of you!” Abbie squealed. “We can have some pictures taken if you want.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes before Ichabod noticed his wife’s distracted picking at her food. “Something the matter, angel?”

She shook her head then shrugged and made a noncommittal noise. “N—Not really. I don’t know. Reynolds and I had a really weird conversation after you left.”

“Did he offend you?” Ichabod hadn’t been a fighter since his Witness days, but he’d have a row with anyone who upset Abbie without a second thought.

“No. He just…” Abbie sighed. “As you know, we have a past, and he hasn’t really said much about it since we started working together, but sometimes I’ll catch him looking at me and… We went to this little shack on the beach when we first started dating. It was only a week but we turned off our phones and just existed for a few days. And sometimes I catch him looking at me and I know he’s still there, waiting for me to come back. I think when he saw us today he realized it wasn’t happening, and I never wanted to hurt him, not again after our breakup, but I think I did.”

Ichabod turned the information over in his head. “You meant him no malice. Neither of us suspected such would happen between us.”

Abbie bit her lip, a frequent habit when she was upset. “I’m just sorry.”

“Have you apologized to him?”

“No. I don’t even know what I’m saying sorry for. We were over years before I even knew you, and we both knew there was no future for us. He wants what he wants and he can’t handle not getting it, and I can’t be what he wants.” She sighed again, ate a piece of chicken. “I’m sorry. I’m dragging down the evening. Let’s talk about something happy. Tell me about the museum.”

He wanted to provide more comfort but he knew her well enough to know that pushing wasn’t always the road to take when she put up her “fences.” He knew she would open up when she wanted to and not a moment sooner, so he did what she asked.

“Well I must take the number 3 bus to get there, and they have the most delightful research department. There is also an adjacent Starbucks.” He tilted his head at her vacant expression, knowing she was hearing him but not listening. “Abbie...”

She walked over and sat in his lap, tucking her face in the curve of her neck and Ichabod turned to kiss forehead. “ _Heart and soul/ I fell in love with you/ Heart and soul/ The way a fool would do/ Madly/ Because you held me tight/ And stole a kiss/ In the night_.”

She shook her head and Ichabod smiled, standing to wrap his arms around her waist and twirl her around. “ _Heart and soul/ I begged to be adored/ Lost control/ And tumbled overboard/ Gladly/ That magic night we kissed/ Beneath the moonlight mist_.”

Abbie gave a glimmer of a smile and Ichabod grinned back, glad his silly attempt at romance was working. He set her on her feet and waltzed her around the island. “ _Now I see what one embrace can do—_ “

“ _Look at me/ It’s got me loving you/ Madly/ That little kiss you stole/ Held all my heart and soul_ ,” Abbie finally joined, her smile immovable.

xxxxx

Later, Abbie sat between his legs, reading _Anna Karenina_ to him while he flat-twisted her hair, something he had oddly grown to enjoy since she taught him how. Though she liked the idea of them having matching hairstyles, she had decided to keep her hair trimmed when he grew his out.

He coated a damp lock in shea butter, breathing in the heavenly mix with her sugar-scented shampoo. “Abigail, what do you think of getting a pet? I’ve downloaded the most wonderful app that reminds me to go to a website where with the simple click of a button, I can feed a homeless animal. And now something called the _humane society_ emails me photos of the most lovable animals who are apparently in quite desperate need of a families. I would very much like to have one.”

“A pet? Crane, do you really think we’re pet people?” Abbie cocked an eyebrow at her husband’s reflection in the iPad’s screen.

He shrugged. “We are both agreeable people with genuinely kind dispositions. According to a very nice lady with whom I spoke on the phone, we are ideal _pet parents_.”

Abbie couldn’t help smiling at the hopeful grin on her face. “What kind of pet do you want?”

“I would very much like a cat,” he answered.

“Alright. We can go look tomorrow since I work the early shift. When do you start work?”

“Monday morning.” He grinned. “This shall be most exciting, darling. Can we name him Jefferson?”

Abbie laughed, wrinkling her nose. “Absolutely not.”

XXXXX

Tuesday

After a series of pictures taken in the car on the way to the shelter, Abbie smirked as she watched Ichabod allow himself to become a cat tree. He apparently possessed a magnetism that drew the creatures to him, their tiny claws clinging to his clothes as they climbed him, collectively purring. She snapped his picture on her camera and he looked up at her.

“Can we take them all?” he asked, giving her a pitiful look.

She shook her head. “One cat, Crane. Pick one so we can go.”

“But—”

“One or none. We’re not starting our own shelter.” A smile tugged at her lips at the distressed look on his face as he began plucking cats from his long frame and examining them sadly then setting them back in the pen. Soon they were all back in the pen and he looked at his wife with a dejected expression. “I can’t choose.”

Abbie rolled her eyes. “Of course you can’t.”

She walked over to the pen and peered into it. None of the cats caught her eye immediately. She’d have preferred a dog, but Ichabod’s heart was set on a cat, so she looked them over again. Warmth encircled her leg and she looked down to see a stump-legged white cat winding around her boot, purring gently. She bent to pick him up and her heart warmed at his wide dark eyes. He meowed plaintively and she stroked his furry head. Abbie almost laughed at the adoration on Ichabod’s face. “Well?”

“This is the one,” he asserted immediately, taking the cat to cradle him.

“Let’s go,” Abbie replied, shaking her head at the cat bopping Ichabod’s chest with his head and purring loudly.

After filling out the paperwork and stopping at PetSmart to buy him a bed and food, Ichabod and Abbie took their new pet home where he quickly made himself comfortable, jumping from surface to surface in the living room. Ichabod sat on the couch, watching him wander while Abbie tried to find a good spot for his litterbox.

“What shall we name him?” he asked.

Abbie looked at the cat and her eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t know. He reminds me of someone but I can’t put my finger on who. Doesn’t he remind you of someone?”

Crane considered the cat’s face for a moment. “Irving perhaps? There’s something about his frown that’s uncanny.”

Abbie laughed. “That’s it! I knew I wasn’t crazy!”

The cat jumped onto the couch and Ichabod rubbed his head. “What do you think of the name Frank Irving?”

The cat meowed a reply then climbed over the back of the couch to land at Abbie’s feet. He looked up at her with his Irving frown and she laughed. “Come on Frank. I’ll get your dinner.”

The cat followed her into the kitchen and Ichabod followed a moment later, stopping in the doorway to take her picture on his phone as she set the cat’s bowl of Fancy Feast in front of him, thinking that it would definitely be the one he showed his coworkers.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So our babies are pet parents!! I’m not sure why I think Crane is a cat person but it just works for me. In case you’re wondering what kind of cat they got, it’s a munchkin breed. Next chapter will be their first date and possibly a little sexy time.
> 
> Reviews are cherished XOXOXO


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry about the formatting. Apparently I'm all thumbs with this site.

Abbie watched as Ichabod walked around their bedroom, shedding his work clothes. His eyebrows were deeply furrowed, his nostrils flared, and she could sense a rant coming. “What’s wrong?”  
“The research department at the museum is abysmal. There’s minimal fact-checking, complete disregard for proper historical context, and virtually no logic to the displays. They just group things by some algorithm of aesthetics that has no proper basis, and the lout of the curator isn’t the least bit concerned. Supposedly we don’t have enough foot traffic to care whether or not things are properly done, and the school children who frequent are too misinformed to know they’re being horribly short-changed.” He sat on the bed in his boxers and Abbie crawled to sit behind him. She took his hair down and kissed his neck.  
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around his bare midsection.  
Ichabod’s frown dissipated at the feeling of his wife’s thinly covered breasts on his shoulder blades. He turned sideways and pulled her onto his lap, letting his head rest on the top of her head as he exhaled the last of his frustration. “It’s okay. Everything has a way of paling when I get to come home to you.”  
Abbie smiled as she ran her fingers through his hair. “Do you know what we should do? We should find a movie on Netflix to play in the background while we make out on the couch.”  
“We should order pizza as well. According to one of the baristas at Starbucks, a lady must always be fed when invited to chill.” He snickered. “You can only imagine the dissonance such an expression caused. But he has committed himself to making me some sort of Casanova now that I’ve explained our unique relationship to him.”  
Abbie laughed. “I suppose I owe him a thank you.”  
Crane grinned. “I’m choosing to withhold all gratitude until his lessons prove fortuitous.”  
They ordered pizza then huddled on the couch under a large thick blanket. Frank Irving busied himself swatting a jingling stuffed mouse that Ichabod had bought him a few days before. Abbie lay on top of her husband, his downy chest hair tickling her cheek. She would never tire of his scent: her Dove soap, his Dove for Men shampoo, coffee, the woods, and something musky, something oh so manly that she couldn’t name. She was also keenly aware of the shallowness of his breathing, guessing the thin cotton of her tank top was doing very little to hide her taut nipples from him. She shifted to stretch out her left leg, wedged between his thin frame and the back of the couch, and he let out a soft grunt, so soft that she almost didn’t hear it. However, nothing could hide the stiffening of his member against her core as it unintentionally rested openly against him. She looked up at his face, not surprised to find his cheeks red.  
“I feel as though I should apologize, but also as though I should not,” he said, clearly conflicted about whether or not he should be embarrassed.  
Abbie smiled. “No apology necessary. I’ll take it as a compliment.”  
He chuckled. “This reminds me of my first years in the military. After such extended periods with nothing but men, even the mere scent of a woman could prove terribly exciting.”  
“So you find me terribly exciting? I hadn’t noticed.” Abbie had definitely noticed, but she never skipped an opportunity to pluck her husband’s tightly wound strings.  
He frowned. “I suppose I should take greater care to make my affections known then.”  
Abbie smiled, running her fingers through his hair. “Maybe just a little. I’m your wife after all. I wouldn’t mind a little groping.”  
He continued to frown. “I’ve never had occasion to do such. Katrina was nearly frigid except when a certain mood struck. And she considered such moods a task to be handled and little more. Such behavior has left me rather uninformed, I’m afraid.”  
“Then I suppose it’s my wifely duty to teach you.”  
Ichabod finally smiled. “I’ve always been an eager student.”  
“Good. I don’t want to have to punish you.” She smiled darkly.  
Ichabod cocked an eyebrow at his wife. “I’m afraid such will prove necessary. I’m oft as incorrigible as I am eager. To what trials will I be subjected?”  
Abbie scraped her nails down the length of his neck. “I think I’ll treat you like a bad dog and rub your nose in it.”  
His eyes sparkled with excitement. “I shall commence misbehaving immediately.”  
Abbie laughed as he shifted beneath her, eventually wriggling from beneath her to cover her body with his own. His fingers dipped below the waistband of her black Nike shorts and found her lacy underwear, a delightfully teasing garment that he’d learned was called a thong. “Do you know what I find mystifying, Abigail?”  
She looked over her shoulder with a smirk. “I feel like I should have pigtails and knee socks when you call me that.”  
“Such could be arranged if you were inclined.” He chuckled, still playing with the lace waistband. “I find your undergarments terribly confusing. What utility could such flimsy garments provide?”  
She wanted to comment on the inutility of his own undergarments as she’d grown completely unfazed by the permanent presence of his cock print in his pants, but she held her tongue. “They’re pretty.”  
“I’ve never considered the fashionableness of underwear. It seems a very modern invention.”  
“I spend all day trying to blend into the Bureau’s boy’s club image. It’s nice wearing something silk or lacy. It makes me feel sexy.” Abbie shrugged. Ichabod didn’t quite understand as he considered her sexy all the time, but he appreciated the sentiment and mental image all the same. His fingers moved on from the lace to the warm supple flesh beneath it. “Plus it’s nice to watch your eyes glaze over when I undress.”  
“Indeed,” he replied, his saliva thick. “Was this same logic the impetus for your peculiar piercings?”  
Abbie chuckled. “No I got those done way before being a cop ever occurred to me. Teenage rebellion and all that.”  
“Are they not painful?” Abbie shifted again so she could straddle him. She took off her tank top and touched her pierced nipples then took her husband’s hands and made him do the same. He seemed perplexed by the tightening of the buds when he touched the barbells bisecting them. He pinched the left one gently and Abbie gasped. His eyes snapped to her face. “Did that hurt?”  
Abbie shook her head. “Do it again.”  
He repeated the gesture and her breath hitched again. Abbie wasn’t sure if she was more turned on by his ministrations or completely enraptured expression as he caressed her pliant flesh. Ichabod had fantasized for years about the wonders of the fleshy orbs so frequently displayed in Abbie’s tight t-shirts, but he couldn’t have imagined the exhilaration that came with touching them, especially not as he wrapped his lips around one nipple and her hips began a wanton rocking against his.  
“Use your teeth,” she whined when the sensations of his tongue, lips, and fingers became too much and she felt a storm swirling in the pit of her stomach. Ichabod promptly obeyed, switching nipples to run his teeth over the bud. Abbie whined, her hips jerking against his as a wave of hot moisture flooded her center. She could feel his arousal as well, his hips working torturously slow against hers as his fingers dug into her flesh. “Roll over.”  
He didn’t have to be told twice, quickly switching their positions and giving him a more advantageous angle to rub his almost painful erection against her. Abbie wrapped her legs around his hips, digging her heels into his lower back to increase the friction between them as she claimed his lips in a searing kiss. When she’d suggested a make out session, she hadn’t expected it to be so agonizingly arousing. “Kiss my neck.”  
“Pull my hair,” he grunted, acquiescing to her demand.  
Abbie tugged on his curls and he growled against the hollow of her throat, his teeth scraping her silky skin. His mouth locked on her pulse point and he sucked with enough fervor that Abbie knew she’d need a scarf the next day. His hips reached a frenzy as she pulled his hair with more force than intended, her own end nearing as the cotton of her panties strained against her swollen sex, tugging on her firm bundle of nerves with enough pressure to make her vision cloudy. He wedged his hands between them, rolling her nipples between his fingers and her body tensed as the levies broke inside her, dissolving her into a quivering mess. A moment later, Ichabod collapsed atop her, his own orgasm ripping through him with more force than he’d experienced in a long time. He rested his head on her shoulder and placed sated kisses on her lips.  
Abbie gave a soft murmur of pleasure, still playing with his hair. “I can’t believe we just dry-humped like teenagers.”  
“The level of satisfaction achieved is astonishing,” Crane agreed.  
They were still languishing in sated drowsiness, the movie forgotten and they kissed and whispered flirtations like teenagers, when the doorbell rang. Ichabod stood to get it but Abbie pointed at the dark front of his sweatpants. “I think I’d better get the door.”  
She wrapped herself in a blanket then retrieved her wallet from her jeans in their bedroom then went to the door. She was surprised to find Jenny on the other side. “Hey.”  
“Hey Abbs. I just thought I’d check in and see how the wedded bliss is going,” Jenny replied as Abbie stepped back to let her inside. Abbie shut the door behind her sister and turned in time to see Ichabod darting down the hall to change his pants. Jenny plopped on the couch then looked at her sister with a wry smile. “It smells like sex in here.”  
Abbie gave an embarrassed smile. “I wouldn’t sit there if I were you.”  
“Shit!” Jenny leapt off the couch and turned to examine its unstained leather. “Don’t you two have any self-control?”  
“A surprising amount. We didn’t have sex,” Abbie replied. “We just humped a little…a lot.”  
Jenny looked at her for a long moment, unsure of what to say. “You two humped? Like high school scared-to-go-all-the-way humped? Seriously?”  
Abbie nodded, aware of the still-present jelly feeling of her limbs. “We were watching a movie and things got a little heated.”  
“You do know that ring on your finger means you can go all the way, right? Some might say it’s tradition.” She gingerly resumed her seat on the couch then changed her mind and slid onto the floor, smirking at her sister as she shook her head.  
“It’s not like you and Joe are doing it,” Abbie argued. Jenny and Joe had only been officially dating for about a month. She highly doubted her sister had any carnal high ground to stand on.  
Jenny raised her eyebrows at her sister. “Um, yeah we are. Why do you think I’m here? I need a break. That man isn’t human.”  
Abbie’s eyes widened at her younger sister’s revelation. “Seriously?”  
Jenny shrugged. “We’ve been friends forever. And given what we’ve all gone through, I wouldn’t think sex would be such a big deal.”  
Abbie sat on the couch, checking the hallway to make sure Ichabod wasn’t within earshot. She could hear their shower in the distance. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she looked down at her sister earnestly. “I want it to be special. It’s like…I’ve thought about to the point that I need it to be an occasion. Does that make any sense? It probably doesn’t. But I want it to really mean something.”  
“You’re already married. And it’s your first time. It’ll mean something regardless.”  
“We haven’t even been on a date yet, Jenny. I feel like we’re doing everything out of time.”  
“Your husband is 300 years old. Time shouldn’t be a biggie, Abbs.”  
“He’s not. He’s only 32. It’s not like he was alive for those 260 years.”  
Jenny shrugged. “Semantics. The point is, after everything that’s happened with you two, I wouldn’t think something like dating would matter.”  
Jenny was surprised by the soft expression on her sister’s face. “I want to fall in love with him, Jenny. I mean, I already love him so much—and I know I’m in love with him but I want the sensation of falling. I want the fairytale. I want silly dates and sentimental firsts and all that stuff people build over years. I want us to have a song, and a restaurant, and a dessert, and all that stuff. I’ve never gotten to do it completely right, and I want to do it completely right with him. Is that silly?”  
Jenny’s smile twitched. “That’s annoyingly cute.”  
Ichabod appeared a moment later, dressed in plaid pajama pants and a gray t-shirt. “Hello, Jenny.”  
“Hey Ichy. You look…refreshed.” She snickered like a teenager. “Good movie?”  
She watched confusion and embarrassment pass over his face. “Quite.”  
He sat on the couch and picked up Abbie’s laptop to find a new movie, his ears still red. Abbie couldn’t help smiling. “I’m gonna go take a quick shower.”  
Jenny stifled a snicker, covering it with an exaggerated cough. Ichabod wondered how much she knew about what had taken place so soon before her arrival. He looked up at Abbie and she gave an innocent smile as she passed him. A moment later she bellowed his name. “Ichabod Thomas Crane, the floor is not a hamper!”  
Jenny cackled, doubling over. Ichabod looked at her with a smirk then got up and went to the bathroom where Abbie stood in the middle of the room, holding his sweat pants. He took them from her then picked up his damp towel off the floor. He put them in the hamper then looked at his wife with a hopeful smile. “Is this a punishable offense?”  
Abbie smirked. “Later.”  
“I think delaying punishment will lessen its effects. You really must to be swift about disciplining the likes of me.” He smiled boyishly, wagging his eyebrows.  
Abbie laughed, shaking her head at him. “Not while Jenny’s here. She’d never let us live it down.”  
He pouted at her, moving to kneel before her. “I shall have to punish myself, it seems. I always pegged you for a strict disciplinarian, Abigail.”  
He pressed his face to her center, exhaling a warm breath that made her grab a handful of his hair as she gasped. She pulled his head back. “Get out.”  
Ichabod reluctantly got to his feet. “This is not over by any stretch of the imagination, Abigail. I believe I shall have to administer some punishment of my own very soon.”  
“You’ll have to get pretty creative to crack me, baby.”  
He smiled darkly, his eyebrows arched. “A challenge I readily accept.”  
Ichabod left the bathroom and rejoined Jenny in the living room. She smirked at him. “Did she let you have it?”  
“Unfortunately not,” he replied. Jenny laughed, nudging him with her elbow.  
“I won’t stay long. I just stopped by to mooch some dinner.” The pizza arrived a few minutes later and Ichabod called the news to Abbie then sat beside Jenny as she switched from Netflix to television. They watched Friends reruns as they ate. “So how’s married life treating you, Ichy?”  
He smiled. “Quite well. Your sister is apparently quite charmed by my courting. She seems to very much enjoy the things I bring her from thrift stores. I’ve scarcely had my face so frequently covered in kisses. I found her the most exquisite vase to hold the flowers I bring her. The museum is quite close to a flower shop and the shopkeeper always saves me the nicest bouquets of tulips to give her every day.”  
“You bring her flowers every day?”  
He nodded. “She likes to put them on the kitchen table. She says they brighten the room.”  
Jenny smiled as she shook her head. “You’re one of a kind, Crane.”  
He gave a bashful shrug. “Courting your sister is my greatest delight. Unfortunately, I’ve so complicated the endeavor in my head that I’ve failed to devise a proper first date for her. I cannot decide if I should attempt some grand romantic overture or if it would behoove me to keep things simple.”  
“Simple, definitely. First dates are hard enough without you making yourself more nervous than you’ll already be. Take her to a movie.”  
“We spend much of our time watching movies. Doing so outside the house rather than in hardly seems a viable first date.”  
Jenny smirked. “Well thankfully for you, fall is full of things to do. Take her somewhere fun, like a carnival. You can get your faces painted, maybe go on a hayride, kiss on the Ferris Wheel. It’ll be different.”  
“That hardly seems the sort of date on which adults go.” Ichabod wasn’t entirely sure what a carnival was, if Abbie would even enjoy such.  
Jenny shook her head. “Trust me. It is. Girls love surprises. And it’s so casual that you won’t be under any undue pressure. You don’t even have to dress up. Plus, Abbie loves to see you let loose and a carnival is a great place for that.”  
Ichabod nodded, the idea growing more appealing. “I shall investigate immediately. I would very much like our first date to be soon.”  
Jenny pulled out her phone and scrolled through her pictures until she got to the candid shots of her and Joe at the carnival in the next town over. She found one of them with the lit Ferris wheel in the background and showed it to her brother-in-law. “Tell me that’s not romantic.”  
Crane nodded in agreement. “I take your point. A carnival will prove an exemplary outing. Although, anywhere with your sister would prove most romantic.”  
“Exactly.” Jenny smiled. “Now you just have to ask her out.”  
Crane’s smile fell. “Oh dear. I must ask her. I had not considered that.”  
“You asked her to marry you. This will be surprisingly easy.”  
He shook his head. “Not so. I asked her to marry me under strictly necessary circumstances. There was no wooing involved. This will prove to be much more difficult as our affections have grown considerably.”  
Jenny frowned as she thought. “Okay. I’m getting the distinct feeling that this isn’t going to be something you’ll do successfully in person.”  
Crane nodded eagerly. “A very astute observation.”  
“So here’s what you do. Tomorrow instead of bringing her flowers, have them delivered to her at work. Attach a note asking her out. It’ll be easy and romantic.”  
“A most brilliant idea!”  
“What is?” Abbie asked as she entered the room, clad in Ichabod’s long-sleeved white henley shirt and navy blue socks.  
“Crane’s thinking of cutting his hair again,” Jenny answered, giving her brother-in-law a pointed smile.  
Abbie pouted as she sat beside her husband and picked up his pizza. “I like your long hair. It reminds me of when we met.”  
Ichabod grinned, reaching out to tweak her nose. “Yes, when you threatened to shoot me.”  
“I didn’t threaten to shoot you. I just informed you that I could if I needed to.”  
“I remembered thinking your uniform was terribly informal.” He’d also thought that she looked exquisite in the uniform, but that was a conversation they’d need to have after Jenny left.  
XXXXX  
The next morning, Ichabod sent Abbie off to work with her coffee and a lingering kiss, declining her offer to drive him to the bus stop. He needed to make a very important stop at the florist before he got to work, and he enjoyed the walk from the house to the bus stop. He had even gained a daily companion, a freckled adolescent boy who lived down the street with his father and took the same route to school. As he expected, the boy, David, was waiting for him at his mailbox.  
“Good morning Mr. Adler,” Ichabod greeted. The boy smiled, forever getting a kick out of someone calling him mister.  
“’Sup, Crane?” David fell in with his long-legged gait and produced a Twinkie from his jacket pocket. “Dad bought two-packs this week.”  
“Splendid.” Ichabod took his Twinkie and gave David the other one. “How goes the Harvest Dance plan?”  
“Well, Hannah Miller is going with Jake Bradley, so she’s off the list. Next up is Denise Nichols. No one’s mentioned asking her, so I’m pretty sure she’ll be my surest shot.”  
Crane nodded. “I see. And is she the girl whom you would most like to take?”  
David shook his red head. “No. But she’ll say yes.”  
Crane glanced at his young companion. “David, do you know that I knew my wife for nearly ten years before I even kissed her? I, like you, allowed myself to claim the low-hanging fruit because I didn’t believe I was good enough to go for the one whom I truly desired. The consternation and self-loathing plaguing those years was the most miserable time I’ve lived through, and I’ve experienced horrors the likes of which you will never know. I suggest you take a grand leap of faith and ask out the girl with whom you would like to spend the evening.”  
David grinned. “Grace Truman. A true shiksa goddess.”  
“A what?”  
“It’s what we call gentile girls. They’re usually blonde and blue-eyed, but Grace isn’t.”  
“Then what is she?”  
“Black,” David replied.  
“Ah. My wife is as well. I must have you over to meet her some time. She finds it preposterous that I’ve made friends with a child.”  
David smirked. “Hey! I’ve got three chest hairs! Probably a dozen if you count the little blonde ones. I’m not a child!”  
Crane laughed. “Indeed. I will inform her immediately. Tell me more about this Grace. Interesting fact: she and my wife share a first name, although my wife rarely goes by the moniker.”  
“She’s so pretty, like so pretty. Like I’m a total creep because I can’t stop staring at her but it’s completely okay because I get to stare at her. And she’s really nice. And funny. And smart. She’s the only person who ever outscores me on tests. She calls me ‘number two’ cause she’s always number one. Last month at Jimmy Pascal’s bar mitzvah, I got her in Spin the Bottle, and we totally kissed for longer than the standard 15 seconds. Like, she was totally into it. Can you believe that?”  
“My wife enjoys kissing me so I suppose anything is possible.”  
“What does she look like?” Ichabod pulled out his phone and showed David his lock screen, featuring a picture of Abbie before a mirror, pulling her hair into a bun. Ichabod wasn’t sure she was even aware of the camera. David whistled. “Talk about a shiksa goddess. You’ve got the Holy Grail.”  
“Indeed, young man.” Crane grinned. “I must admit we find ourselves in similar positions. I must ask my wife on a date…our first.”  
David looked at him in surprise. “Well you’re already married. How hard could it be?”  
“You would be surprised, young man.”  
David thought for a moment. “She’s gotta say yes no matter how you do it. I mean, she’s your wife. She’s not just gonna turn you down.”  
Ichabod nodded. “Very true. My sister-in-law suggested I ask her on the card attached to the flowers I give her every day.”  
“Cool. Sounds like something they’d do in an eighties movie, and girls love those.” They reached Ichabod’s bus stop and David extended his fist for Ichabod to bump. “Wish me luck.”  
“And me as well.”  
“Hey David!” Both looked up to find a girl that Crane assumed to be Grace standing across the street, waving at David, whose face promptly seared crimson.  
“Oh my god!” he whispered, looking at Crane.  
“I believe this is your opportunity, young man,” Ichabod replied, giving the boy an encouraging smile.  
“See you tomorrow!” David hastily crossed the street and Ichabod smiled at he and Grace falling in step with each other as they walked down the sidewalk, their backpacks bouncing.  
He quickly snapped a picture and sent it to Abbie with the caption: Young David and the object of his affection, a Miss Grace Truman.  
Abbie replied a moment later: Girls named Grace are taking over the world  
Ichabod laughed. I would definitely follow a certain Grace everywhere.  
They continued to flirt as he rode the bus to work. He got off and headed to the flower shop, smiling at the slight brunette behind the counter. “Good morning, Miss Corinth.”  
“Morning Mr. Crane,” she replied, flashing him a smile. “What’ll it be today? We’ve just gotten some lovely new roses, a hybrid breed of American Beauty. They smell heavenly.”  
“My Abigail doesn’t like roses. The smell offends her,” he replied.  
“Well we’ve got some chrysanthemums that she might like. Some girls think they’re matronly, but I happen to like them.” The bouquet was lovely but it wasn’t what Ichabod wanted to send Abbie. He shook his head. “Unfortunately someone cleaned us out of tulips earlier for a bridal shower, but I’ve got a pretty unusual bouquet you might like in the back.”  
She disappeared through a door and Ichabod leaned on the counter, wondering what she would bring. A moment later she returned with a bundle of sunflowers. “Aren’t they lovely?”  
“Quite,” he replied.  
“And we’ve got the cutest card to go with them.” She left the counter again and retrieved a small blue card that played “You Are My Sunshine” when she opened it.  
“Marvelous! And it will do this each time she opens it?” Zoe nodded. He held out his hand for the card and carefully wrote his note then handed it back to Zoe. “I would like blue paper and a red ribbon.”  
He gave her the bureau office’s address and paid then headed to the coffee shop. 

xxxxx  
Abbie sat at her desk, reading through the BAU file she’d promised a consultation on. She wondered what Ichabod was doing, if he was having a good day. It was odd, the way she could find herself missing him those days. Before, she would just want to get home to relax. Hanging out with him was secondary. But now nothing made her smile harder than finding him asleep on the couch, his iPad on his stomach.  
An agent called her name from the stairs. “Package you gotta sign for.”  
She got up and descended the small flight of stairs, wondering what kind of package it was. She couldn’t think of anything anyone would need to send her. When she got to the reception desk, she smiled at the long white box in the delivery boy’s hands, knowing who it was from. She signed his delivery sheet then dug into her pocket for a tip. The dark-haired boy shook his head. “He already tipped me, ma’am.”  
Abbie smiled. “Of course he did.”  
She laughed as she circled yes then took out her phone to call him. He answered on the third ring. “Good morning, precious.”  
“Someone just sent me the nicest bouquet with a card attached asking me on a date. Who do you think it could be?”  
Ichabod smiled. “Probably some delightful young man that you should very seriously consider dating. I’ll bet he’s quite the handsome lad as well.”  
Abbie laughed. “Sounds like he might be pretty arrogant too. I don’t know if I want to date someone like that.”  
“I can assure you you would regret such a decision. This gentleman is quite taken with you.”  
“Is that right? Well I suppose it wouldn’t be too terrible. But what would all my other boyfriends think?”  
“They should simply count themselves lucky that such a gentleman is unaware of their identities.”  
“So when will this date take place? And what should I wear? Do I need a corset and powdered wig?”  
Crane smiled. “No, dearest. It will happen at the classic date time: Saturday night at 8. And you need only be your lovely self, as casual as you’d like.”  
“Sounds like we’ll be doing something fun.”  
“I predict a most magical evening,” he replied.  
XXXXX  
Saturday  
Abbie emerged from the bathroom wrapped in her towel, her damp hair wound around long, flexible rollers.  
“You’re running late.” She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Jenny’s voice. The younger Mills sister sat on Abbie and Ichabod’s bed.  
Abbie looked at the clock. It was nearly 7:30. She looked back at her sister. “I can get ready in that time.”  
Jenny gave her a knowing look. “Your hair is wet, you don’t have your makeup on yet, and you don’t have an outfit ready.”  
Abbie smirked. “Why are you here?”  
“To help. Knowing Ichy, he’s probably already on the way so he won’t be late.” She stood and went to Abbie’s closet. “Do you still have that cute little blue dress you took from me? The one with the red and yellow flowers on it that was too big on my chest?”  
“Look on the left side with all the dresses,” Abbie replied as she plugged in her blow dryer. Jenny found the dress then paired it with Abbie’s favorite cognac leather jacket and flat brown riding boots. Abbie looked at her quizzically. “Flats? To go out with my 10-foot-tall husband?”  
“Did he tell you where you’re going?” Jenny asked in reply. Abbie shook her head. “Then you’ll have to trust my judgment.”  
Abbie again looked at her sister quizzically but went back to blow drying her hair. Jenny opened Abbie’s underwear drawer and smirked as she pulled out a sheer black g-string. She held it up for her sister to see. “Too much?”  
“Unless you’d like a dead brother-in-law,” Abbie answered.  
Jenny nodded and went back to the drawer, this time pulling out a pair of white panties trimmed in white lace. “Ichy still have that Puritan fetish?”  
“Shut up. Those are cute.”  
Jenny nodded and tossed them on the bed with a white bra then resumed her seat. “So are you excited?”  
Abbie blushed. “I’ve been on pins and needles all day. Plus, Ichabod was gone when I got up this morning. He left me the cutest little note, something about taking a stand at the museum for propriety—”  
“Ooh he used the ‘p’ word. I bet somebody got quit the earful—”  
“Definitely a few ‘quoth Jefferson’s’,” Abbie laughed. “I haven’t seen him all day. I miss him.”  
Jenny smiled, shaking her head. “I never thought I’d see the day my sister became that girl.”  
The doorbell rang and Abbie looked at the clock. It was exactly 8. She smiled, not surprised. She looked back at her sister. “Can you go get the door while I get dressed?”  
Jenny nodded and went downstairs, leaving Abbie alone. She wasn’t surprised to find Ichabod on the other side, holding a bouquet of violet tulips. He smiled at Jenny then gestured to his chambray shirt and dark jeans. He had pulled his hair back in a bun. “I stopped by a wonderfully inexpensive store called H and M and this lovely young lady with strikingly pink hair helped me pick out this outfit. Now I am hip.”  
“You look great, Ichy,” Jenny replied, stepping black to let him in.  
“Is your sister ready?”  
“Almost.” She went to the bottom of the stairs. “Abbie get a move on!”  
“Five minutes,” Abbie called back.  
Ichabod sat on the couch. “So it will be at least ten minutes.”  
Just as he’d expected, Abbie descended the stairs ten minutes later. His grip on the bouquet’s stems tightened as he stood. He opened his mouth to compliment her but nothing came out as he looked at her, trying to remember the last time she’d worn a dress. Abbie smiled at his slack-jawed expression. “I take it I look nice, Mr. Crane.”  
“Most exceptional.” He walked over and presented the flowers.  
Abbie smiled at the flowers, remembering their wedding day. “I’ve missed you all day.”  
Ichabod couldn’t resist pulling her into his arms and standing her on his toes to kiss her. “There are scarcely adequate words for how much I’ve missed you, darling. But such a trial has afforded me a great boon. Upon voicing my concerns, the curator grew quite concerned with the validity of my statements. As a result, he has appointed me curator of accuracy to whip the museum into shape.”  
Abbie grinned, holding his face. “I’m so proud of you.”  
Jenny smirked at her sister and brother-in-law. “Can you two stop and get out so Frank and I can order some Chinese food?”  
At the sound of his name, the cat emerged from the kitchen and immediately rushed to Abbie’s feet, winding himself around her legs until she picked him up. “Mommy and Daddy are going out for a little while. Will you be okay with Aunt Jenny?”  
The cat meowed in reply, rubbing his head on Abbie’s chest. It amused Ichabod how Abbie and the cat had warmed to each other, frequently spending their evenings together on the couch watching reality shows. Abbie scratched him behind his ears then handed him over to Jenny.  
Ichabod smiled at his wife. “Shall we?”  
Abbie smiled. “Let’s.”  
xxxxx  
Ichabod turned to look at his wife as he pulled into a parking space before the carnival’s brightly lit entrance. Abbie could already hear bouncy pop music playing over the loud speakers. “I do hope this pleases you, Abigail.”  
Abbie smiled at him. “This is probably the most creative first date I’ve ever been on.”  
They got out of the car and entered the carnival where Abbie introduced Ichabod to the joys of funnel cake. She couldn’t resist taking his picture when powdered sugar caked his mustache, thinking back to his first cappuccino. She showed him the picture. “Remember the last time you looked like this?”  
He smiled. “My first cappuccino, and you wiped the foam off for me. I believe it was the first time I ever wanted to kiss you, though certainly not the last.”  
“I think the first time I wanted to kiss you was…” Abbie smiled. “I honestly can’t remember. It was probably the first time I looked at you, like really looked at you. I remember thinking that you had the kindest eyes, and the nicest smile. I wanted to make you smile forever.”  
“When I saw you, I thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. That’s why I stared at you like that. I couldn’t comprehend your existence.”  
Abby snickered. “You’re so corny.”  
The funnel cake finished, they walked hand-in-hand down the aisle of booths, Abbie explaining the games to Ichabod as they went. She stopped before a booth and pointed to a large stuffed animal. “Look! It’s Winnie the Pooh! I love Pooh!”  
Ichabod looked up at the stuffed animal then at his wife. “Would you like it?”  
Abbie nodded, looking at him with wide, shining eyes.  
“As you wish.” He smiled then turned to the man running the booth. “What’s the charge?”  
“You get five tries for five dollars,” the rotund man replied, his arms resting on his large belly as he sat on a stool. He pointed at the basket of baseballs on the counter. “You’ve gotta knock down all three pyramids of bottles.”  
Ichabod nodded and placed a five-dollar bill on the counter. He knocked down the first pyramid with ease. The second took him two tries. The third thoroughly eluded him. He placed another five-dollar bill on the counter and the man reset the bottles. Ichabod played again with similar results.  
“Hell’s bells,” he muttered, retrieving another bill.  
Abbie smirked at her husband, thinking that typical male ego was apparently an antique trait. “It’s not worth 15 dollars, babe. You can buy me one at Walmart for like 5.”  
He frowned down at her from the corner of his eye. “You want this one. This one you shall have.”  
Abbie rolled her eyes but stood on her toes to whisper in his ears. Ichabod leaned down to hear her. “The setup is rigged. Hit the bottom row at an angle and they’ll fall.”  
Ichabod smiled, understanding. He did as his wife said and easily won the game, grinning at the chubby attendant. “I shall have the Winnie the Pooh doll, thank you.”  
The man snorted, shuffling off his stool to retrieve the stuffed animal. Abbie grinned as Ichabod presented it to her with a flourish. She smacked a kiss on his sweet lips. Ichabod blushed. He wasn’t sure he would ever get used to public displays of affection. But anything with Abbie would delight him nonetheless. “What shall we do now, precious?”  
“Let’s go on the tilt-a-whirl,” Abbie replied, taking his hand to lead him to the ride.  
Despite some initial reservations of the safety of the ride, Ichabod found himself delighted as he spun around. He especially enjoyed Abbie’s laughter as she sat beside him. When they got off the ride, she took him on a roller coaster, called The Bullet, which he liked enough to ride twice. After the second ride, Abbie treated him to his first deep-friend corndog.  
“Your money is no good here, Abigail,” Ichabod said as he watched his wife look through her purse for her wallet.  
“Well you bought the tickets, and blew fifteen bucks on a stuffed bear. I can buy two-dollar corndogs.”  
Ichabod shook his head. “It is our first date. I will be spending the money.”  
Abbie laughed. “Can I pay next time we go out?”  
“I’ve not asked you on a second date.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Perhaps I find this outing unsatisfactory.”  
Abbie rolled her eyes. “Bullshit. You’ve waited almost ten years for this moment.”  
“Well 7 of those were preoccupied with other events, but I concede your premise, Abigail.”  
Abbie looked up at him with a dark smile. “You’ve called me that twice. Are you looking to get in trouble?”  
“Indeed.” His eyebrows quirked and Abbie laughed as they moved to the front of the line. Ichabod smiled at the hairnet-wearing teenaged girl behind the counter. “Good evening, miss. I would like two of your finest corndogs and two glasses of lemonade.”  
“That’ll be $8.50.”  
Abbie stifled a laugh at the mild outrage that flashed over her husband’s face. “Eight dollars and fifty cents for glorified hotdogs and water mixed with lemon? That is the most rampant price gouging I’ve witnessed in nearly—”  
The girl’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth to answer but Abbie cut her off, nudging her husband with her elbow. “Ichabod. She just works here. Give her the money.”  
He grudgingly removed a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and handed it to the girl. Abbie smiled at her. “Keep the change, okay?”  
The girl nodded and quickly produced their food. Abbie smirked at her husband as they walked to the last unoccupied table. “You’ve gotta stop ranting at employees. They don’t make the rules.”  
“Noted,” he replied, before taking a bite of the corndog. He smiled. “Exceptional! For such a taste, this may be worth the woefully inflated price.”  
They ate their corndogs and drank their lemonade. Under the table, Abbie snaked her foot up Ichabod’s leg, watching his face redden as he ate. She smiled at him. “Soooo?”  
“So?” He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as she slid her toe up and down his leg.  
“It’s our first date. You’re supposed to be telling me about yourself in hopes that I’ll sleep with you tonight.”  
Crane smiled. “Well, I’m a curator at the history museum. I’ve recently been put in charge of straightening out some egregiously mismanaged research.”  
“Do you like it?” Abbie asked, reaching over to wipe crumbs out of his beard.  
“Very much. Now tell me about yourself?”  
“Well I’m an FBI agent, which sounds exciting but is actually just copious amounts of tedious paperwork. I’m 25. I’m a Yankees fan. I have a vehement hatred for the Red Sox. I’m outdoorsy in that I like getting drunk on my front porch. I have the most adorable cat in the world. His name is Frank. I love romantic comedies, and watching the History Channel.” She had to laugh then, mostly because she only loved listening to him correct the History Channel. “My favorite place in the world is the beach. And that’s about it, I guess.”  
“I too am a baseball fan. I enjoy…” He lost his train of thought, watching her reapply her lipstick.  
Abbie smirked as she looked at him over the top of her compact. “Why don’t we go on another ride while your brain regains control of your blood flow?”  
“Indeed.” He quickly threw away their trash then offered his hand to her.  
Abbie flexed her fingers between his as they walked. She smiled as the carnival switched on their lights, illuminating the Ferris Wheel. She pointed it out to Ichabod. “Let’s get on the Ferris Wheel.”  
Ichabod looked at the looming wheel with a deep frown. “Is it quite safe?”  
“Of course. And they’re so fun. At the top, you can see for miles.” They got in line and Crane continued to eye the ride with trepidation. Abbie looked up at him and squeezed his hand. “We’ve done scarier stuff than this Crane. Remember that tiny mineshaft?”  
He frowned harder and shook his head. “Not if I can help it.”  
“So this is a much nicer alternative. You’ll see.”  
They got to the front of the line and showed the man their wristbands. He opened the car’s door and Abbie gestured for Ichabod to get in. He dubiously folded himself into the small car and Abbie climbed in beside him. She looked at the attendant. “Can you stop us at the top? He’s never been on one of these before.”  
“Sure,” he answered then shut the door.  
Abbie looked at Ichabod as the ride began moving. His eyes remained on his shoes. Abbie squeezed his hand. “Are you okay?”  
He nodded. “This is quite the new sensation. I am adjusting.”  
Abbie smiled, leaning over to lay her head on his chest. Ichabod wrapped his arm around her as she pointed to their left. “Look at the moon.”  
He turned to look out at the moon and she felt him relax. “Oh. This view is quite striking.”  
He pulled his phone from his pocket and went to his music. “They played the most beautiful song today in Starbucks. Would you like to hear it?”  
Abbie nodded and he found the song. “It’s by a band called Train, and it’s called ‘Marry Me.’ I believe I would like for it to be our song if that pleases you. Joe says we need one for anniversaries and such.”  
“I’d like that.” She snuggled closer in his embrace as they began the descent to the bottom.  
xxxxx  
After a few rides on the Ferris Wheel, Abbie and Ichabod walked hand-in-hand toward the park’s exit. Ichabod looked at his wife. “So how did I do?”  
Abbie smiled and squeezed his hand. “This is the best first date I’ve ever been on. All that’s missing is the perfect goodnight kiss.”  
Crane stopped, turned, and kissed her. Abbie jerked away with a laugh, shaking her head. “That doesn’t count. It’s supposed to be the most romantic thing in the world.”  
They made it to the Jeep and Abbie leaned against the passenger side door, staring up at her husband as he towered over her. “Well, dearest, I’m afraid I’ve no context for this sort of encounter. This is my first date that has ended on such terms.”  
Abbie’s eyebrows raised. “Really?”  
Ichabod nodded almost sheepishly. “Most evenings climaxed with a pleasant goodnight at the front door, following by a half-hour of moping because it was never you and I on the date.”  
“Well I guess it’s time for another lesson. First, you look in my eyes, and then your eyes fall to my lips.” Ichabod did as he was told, stepping closer in her space. Abbie found herself sixteen again, staring up at a shaggy-haired boy a grade ahead of her who set off the most monstrous flurries of butterflies in her stomach. Now grown, a fire burned low in her belly, made her saliva thick. “And then you…you hold my face and lean close and I smell your breath. And at first the kiss is gentle, almost a question. But you get your answer immediately and you kiss me harder and then it’s just…happening.”  
She knew what was coming but still the contact of his lips made her breath hitch as she leaned onto her toes to twine her fingers in his loose curls. Ichabod pecked her lips until she was chasing his mouth each time he pulled it away, each contact sweeter than the last.  
It was easy to get lost in her mouth, the sweetness of a candy apple on her tongue. Ichabod pulled her as close as he could, pressing her back into the cool car window and lifting her slightly off the ground. Abbie’s left leg wound around his torso, clinging desperately to anything that felt stable as she wrapped her tongue around his. Ichabod groaned in her mouth, his own hands caressing every inch of soft flesh they found. “And then what’s happening, treasure?”  
“Everything,” she breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews of any kind are appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to review or send me some kudos!! XOXO


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